


love (or something like it) and war

by eyemeohmy



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Crack Pairing (?), Kinky stuff, M/M, Messy Writing, Mild to Moderate Profanity, PNP, PWP, Rough Sex, Sexuality, Tactile sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not about love. It's not even about liking each other.</p><p>There is an iota of respect, just a dash of communication, and a whole lot of lust. In the end, that's all it is. This doesn't really make much sense. They're not exactly compatible; they don't even really know each other. They probably don't even like one another. But sex doesn't have to be about the shit all the romantics spew and write poems about. It doesn't have to be logical or perfect. What it does need is passion and a happy ending. Always a happy ending. Hardly anyone had sex to be disappointed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love (or something like it) and war

**Author's Note:**

> Bored and frustrated, so I wrote up this little Whirl/Ambulon thing. I've been wanting to do a sequel of sorts to my one Whirl/Ambulon fic, but my mind's just been a flurry of JHSDFGSDHFGSDF, so... For now, have this. It's around 2062 words, I think it works for a fic thing.
> 
> Done in present tense. It's messy and written just to get a few images out of my head. So a sloppy little PWP fic, woot. I kept the methods of sex pretty vague (well, a little), and while I'm saying it's pnp and tactile, I think there's a few instances where you can say, hey, maybe it's sticky. Whatever gets your little rocks off idgaf. Rated R or MA idk, your choice, again.

It's not about love. It's not even about liking each other.

There is an iota of respect, just a dash of communication, and a whole lot of lust. In the end, that's all it is. This doesn't really make much sense. They're not exactly compatible; they don't even really know each other. They probably don't even _like_ one another. But sex doesn't have to be about the shit all the romantics spew and write poems about. It doesn't have to be logical or perfect. What it _does_ need is passion and a happy ending. Always a happy ending. Hardly anyone fucked to be disappointed.

Given the fact they're both far from home and so they're limited in their choices, they can't really complain. They make due with what they have. Teammates don't like Whirl because he's psychotic, rude, and distrustful. Many teammates don't like Ambulon because he's still an outsider, and a former Decepticon at that. For all they know, he had no noble reason or epiphany for running away. He got bored or felt he was cheated and so he defected. Maybe he'll never be on the same moral footing as those which the Autobot idealists strive to keep. And that's fine with him. Whirl will never be the perfect Autobot, either.

Two wrongs don't make a right, but broken little things are too broken to know the difference or care.

So, it's not about love or romance. It's about passing the time, blowing off steam, enjoying a good fuck, and finding something attractive enough about their partner to make the sex worthwhile and not another goddamn chore. Ambulon's broken and Whirl likes when they're broken; they're fun to play with. Whirl's crazy and so simple in his base desires, that Ambulon feels free of attachments and obligations. Neither are looking for a relationship; both are looking for a good time.

It's not entirely random, however. They've spoken on a number of occasions. Not really conversed, but know enough to keep this from being awkward. Ambulon's patched up a few of Whirl's wounds, Whirl's punched a few dickheads trying to bully Ambulon at the bar. Mostly for something to do, but Ambulon knows it's more than that. They like each other enough; enough to step in and defend each other.

It's a weird type of relationship they have, for lack of a better word. They're not friends, but they're close. They're not in love, but they constantly return to one another for these nights, even when there's a door of opportunity just ajar for them. They find they have no reason to end this tryst or rely on someone else to satisfy their physical demands. They fit, in an awkward, weird kind of way. They fit _enough_ and that's all they ask for.

Ambulon likes Whirl's berth. It's large and spread out, much bigger than his, and he can move and thrash and jolt without worrying about falling over. He's had to clean off a few skids of red and white paint from the berth on a number of occasions. Once there were a few streaks of purple, and that amused him, in a weird sort of way. Whirl doesn't have fingers, can't hold most things properly, but the way his claws clamp around his wrists and hold him down are perfect because if Whirl loses control for even one minute, Ambulon knows his hands could be snipped off in a flash-second. To anyone else it's a frightening possibility too risky to take, but to Ambulon, it's worth a moan or two.

Whirl's chest makes it a bit hard to ever seal the space between them. But that's fine. Guns mounted on his chestplates grind and tear along Ambulon's chest and sometimes, just sometimes, when Whirl's being especially playful, Ambulon will feel the heat of the barrels and soft sparks of electricity from the guns as they power up. They never fire, but they've been hot enough to once singe plating. And sometimes, just sometimes, when Ambulon's being especially playful, he'll sit forward and let his tongue wander around the barrels, take them in his mouth, suck or lick or kiss, and sometimes the heat from the building charge inside burns the back of his throat or tickles his tongue with little electric shock-pops. No matter who is in control at the moment, both are happy.

Whirl likes the way the former Decepticon wiggles beneath him. The way he jerks around, gasping and moaning, taking everything he's giving him, no matter how rough. Sometimes it's too much, even Whirl knows, but the medic fights with him. He fights with him not for freedom, but more. When he starts whining and whimpering more out of pain than pleasure, Whirl's spark flares and bloats with pride.

Sometimes he tells Ambulon just what he thinks about the ex-Decepticon, repeating rumors that stir through the ship, tells him all the dirty and horrible things people say about Ambulon, and they're so cruel and mean and Ambulon doesn't get angry, he just gets more aroused and will ask for Whirl to treat him like the filth and garbage some of his crewmates think of him. Whirl is all too happy to oblige; he likes it best when coolant trickles at the corners of Ambulon's yellow optics as his body strains, finally reaching a breaking point. He likes tearing the medic apart as he rocks into him; he likes making him feel like trash as he gives him everything he's got. Who knew death threats could entice such delicious noises?

To the world outside Whirl's room, he's a joke. He's a terribly unfunny, poorly made joke. People fear him as much as they hate and pity him. Ambulon knows this. He knows when Whirl's "friends" aren't trying to avoid him, they're mocking him behind his back. He knows that it hurts Whirl, though he shows it very rarely or in some rather shocking ways. Rung is concerned, but it isn't just for Whirl. Sometimes he takes Ambulon's hand and gives him a look, like he knows and he disapproves.

Like he knows that when the two are alone at the center of Whirl's galaxy in his tiny, cramped room, Whirl sits on his berth like a king on his throne and Ambulon's on his knees like a peasant, between his legs, using his tongue to worship lines and seams and sensitive plating along his thighs, groin, abdomen, holding his waist as he repeatedly laps his tongue over wounds he's personally repaired and welded closed himself. Sometimes Whirl places a hand on his head and guides him to where he wants to be pleasured; sometimes it simply pets and strokes, aren't you a good boy, aren't you a good, obedient little boy?

So Rung gives Ambulon that look like he knows, and he doesn't approve. He wants happiness for his patient, but he fears for the health of them both. If this is indeed as consensual and healthy as they make it out to be. If there are problems not being addressed but instead make Ambulon sob as the pain rockets through his body and makes Whirl feel that if he's done something bad, maybe the good doc will come and show him otherwise. That maybe sex isn't what they need right now, and sex with each other only brings out things that should otherwise be treated very differently.

Still, they meet every other night, maybe once a week or so. And Ambulon will feel like clay in Whirl's hands, and he molds him how he wants him. He holds the medic like a toy doll and watches him throw his head back, wailing, begging, pleading; his legs shake and latch and curl, and his fingers grab at the claws clamped tight around his hips, either to pry free or hold on for dear life. Whirl likes to nuzzle what serves as his face against those white cheeks and enjoys the heat, and the whimpers are louder with his audiol so close to Ambulon's trembling lips.

Still, they meet, and sometimes Ambulon will use those expert hands and that surprisingly skilled tongue to feel Whirl's body, soak it all in, study it. Map it. Up his back, along blades, pausing to caress or fondle into seams or equipment he knows makes the mech beneath him stir. He nuzzles nose to the back of Whirl's thin neck, trails kisses up the back of his head, and then lets one slick tongue run up the length of the single antenna. This usually earns a shiver and then Whirl's turned around, and Ambulon's being held up in his lap, smiling, his yellow optics dim but bright in the dark, dark room. Meeting the glow of Whirl's single eye, and Ambulon bends forward, letting his tongue trace its edges, the outer rim, and sometimes the eye itself.

Sometimes, the wall is better than the berth. Even kneeling, Whirl's still too tall. So he shoves the medic against the wall, and bows his head, and the touches and caresses, Ambulon groans as he leans forward, working the antenna in his mouth, sucking, thrusting in and out of his mouth. And Whirl lets him sit on his shoulders, sometimes, and works vibrations into Ambulon's body, lets him sit there and mouth fuck his damn antenna or pepper his head with more kisses.

Ambulon's amazed with what Whirl can do without a mouth and working fingers. He's got his voice, his presence, his powerful energy field. He doesn't need that equipment to make the medic moan and cry and whimper for more. And Ambulon can barely stay on his knees, Whirl beneath him, lavishing those seams along his groin and thigh, and oh, well, who knew the antenna could be used for _that_? Certainly not Ambulon, whose surprise fades with an embarrassed gasp and melting whimper, his optics flushing with color.

Whirl is quite fond of the attention, and Ambulon will sometimes suck his claws. Works them in his mouth the same he would his antenna. Sometimes Whirl would help, shoving them in and out, and whenever he accidentally cut the medic's lips, the medic would just keep sucking and swallow down any spilled energon with big, heavy gulps. He was such a trooper; never one to complain!

And Whirl hadn't really thought about it, but yeah getting your feet licked from someone on their hands and knees is quite sexy. He orders more of Ambulon as he shoves his foot against his face, and once hard enough to draw energon from a tear in Ambulon's nose. But the doctor continues licking and fondling his foot, even as energon runs down his face and tastes bitter in his mouth. He asks if he can taste it, and Ambulon will wipe his nose, smear bright purple energon on white fingers, and draw them along and into the small slit on Whirl's chin used for drinking. He can barely taste it, but what he does makes his EM field burn.

It's a good thing Ambulon is a medic. Whirl doesn't mind bragging about his sexual escapades to the other medics, but Ambulon prefers to be a bit more discreet. Physician, heal thyself, then heal thy fuckbuddy. Neither leave the room with physical signs of sex, but their depleted, hot hot energy fields are enough evidence. A bystander would know it was fucking great and wonderful if not a bit messed up.

So, it's not that they're in love or even really like one another. They're drawn by desires and mutual attraction. Just enough to get the job done without making it seem a job. It really isn't. And sometimes, just sometimes, and it is truly rare, they will not separate immediately after coupling or patching each other up, but... stay. There. Holding one another. Breathing. Cycling air. Their fields still swirled and knotted together. Their minds settling. And they'll hold each other and it may not be comfortable, but it will be nice. The afterglow keeps them entwined for about ten, maybe fifteen minutes before they unfurl and say goodnight.

Ambulon's not sure he could put his trust in Whirl's hands on the battlefield. Sometimes Whirl is a little apprehensive or unwilling to agree with Ambulon's treatments in the medbay. But when they fuck, it's like Heaven, and really, the war's over, so it's all about love now, right?


End file.
